The First Christmas
by iamdkscully
Summary: Written for XFChemist as a Secret Santa present. Jack and Sam celebrate their first Christmas together.
1. The Tree

**Written as a Secret Santa present for XFChemist. Merry Christmas!**

**The First Christmas **

**The Tree**

Jack couldn't remember the last time he'd had an actual real, live Christmas tree in his house. He had tried for years to put one up but couldn't bring himself to do it when he was the only one around. In fact, the last time it had taken him until two days before Christmas to get the tree, it never did get decorated past putting on the lights, and it was darn near Valentine's Day when he'd chucked the withered mess to the curb.

He couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him as he glanced at the blonde woman sitting on the steps donning her socks and snow boots.

"What's so funny?" she asked looking up from pulling on her boots.

"Nothing."

"Doesn't sound like nothing," she said standing up and grabbing her coat and scarf.

"I was just thinking about the last time I had a tree, that's all."

"Oh," she giggled at the thought of watching him and Daniel struggle to get that poor withered tree out of the house and put outside. The mess had been atrocious, they'd spent over an hour cleaning up pine needles and bark. "Well if we want to get back in time before dark, we'd better get going."

"Lead on McDuff."

He grabbed his own coat and hat and they headed out the door. The advantage to owning several acres of woods meant that they could "shop" for a tree literally in their own backyard. They wouldn't have to go too far into the woods but they would have to hike a couple of miles to get to the smaller trees more suited to be cut and carried into the house.

He didn't think this was necessary, but he just couldn't say no to her. Despite the fact that she'd be off-world most of the month and he'd be stuck at the mountain more often than not, especially if she was off-world, she'd insisted that they get a live tree.

"It just makes it seem more like Christmas," she'd told him when they were discussing decorating the house for the holidays. "It makes the house seem more like _home_."

How could he argue with that?

They started down the hiking trail at the edge of the backyard. The trail started just past the fire pit, a favorite spot for team nights, and as they walked, they immediately fell into step with one another, years of conditioning taking over their senses. Some things, though, were still new and exciting and as Jack reached for her hand, Sam couldn't help the thousand watt smile that lit up her face.

How long had she dreamed of a time like this? How long had they been waiting? Truth be told she cared little about whether the tree was real, though it did remind her of Christmas with her family, she had just wanted to make this memory with him. She wanted to be able to look back and laugh. She wanted to be able to share a story about their first Christmas tree and smile as she reminisced. She wanted good memories to start outnumbering the bad experiences that had transpired over their years serving together at the SGC. There was so much pain and sorrow to make up for that something like this felt like but a baby step. Her father used to always say that you had to crawl before you could walk and walk before you could run. She fought a stab of sadness that threatened to dim her moment as her father's words ran through her. Then she smiled and squeezed the hand holding hers.

Just a walk, Sam, that's all it takes, just a walk.


	2. Lights

**Lights**

Now that the tree was finally up, Sam grabbed the broom and swept up the stray pine needles that had fallen as they'd brought it in and gotten it into the stand.

Jack brought in a box marked lights and started checking the precisely would strands for any outages or shorts in the bulbs or the cords.

"White or Colors?" he asked looking at her with a strange expectation lurking in his eyes.

"Do you have a preference?" she countered back.

"I asked you first."

"Jack," she said his name with just a hint of exasperation in her voice.

"Sam."

"Jack."

"Look as much fun as it is to keep saying your name over and over and as much as I love to hear you say mine, we're not getting anywhere with this conversation. Lights, Sam, which do you prefer?"

He was completely unprepared for what happened next.

She looked at him blankly for several seconds and then suddenly she burst into tears.

He was up off the floor and at her side immediately. "Sam, Honey, what's wrong?" His voice was soft and full of concern as he pulled her close.

When her sobs finally subsided and she stood quietly resting her head on his chest, he gently asked again, "Sam? Are you okay?"

"I'm sorry," she replied, her voice rough. "This is the first time in years that I've felt like even celebrating Christmas. My mom used to make it such a big deal and my dad became such a big kid that it was hard to tell sometimes who enjoyed the holiday more, us or him." The ghost of a smile played across her lips as she thought about that last Christmas together. Her dad had even dressed up like Santa in one last attempt to keep young Sam's belief alive. "I...it's just that, God Jack, I miss them so much."

He reached down and gently wiped the fresh tears away with his thumbs. "It's okay to miss them, Sam. It's especially okay to miss them at Christmas."

Looking up at him she saw a wistfulness in his features that she'd never seen before and saw his own eyes start to mist.

"You understand."

It was a statement of fact. She knew in that moment without a doubt that he not only knew what she was feeling but he could actually feel her pain. Though he'd rarely spoken of his son in the almost decade they'd known each other, the times he had, she had seen the devastation and longing in his eyes. Those raw emotions had rarely been allowed to the surface in the past, but now his heart was open to her, all of his heart.

They had sworn when they started this relationship that they both would be open and honest about their feelings and about their pasts. His son was a subject they had addressed early on because she couldn't afford to not have him give up that buried and heavily guarded piece of himself. She knew what it was like to live with someone with half a life in the shadows. She wouldn't do that to herself again. She couldn't.

So, in return, not wanting any more confusion about her past to cloud his perception of her true feelings for him, Sam had lain everything about her family and her ex-fiances on the table. She knew Jack had been very insecure in the beginning of their relationship and uncertain of her true intentions. She blamed herself for that. So from her issues with her father, to the the abuse she'd suffered with Jonas, to her reasons for trying to create a life with Pete, she'd answered all of his questions.

She never should have doubted the depth of Jack's feelings nor should she have doubted that they could find a way to be together. Now, as they stood there getting ready to decorate their first Christmas tree, she felt her heart swell in her chest.

"I understand," he repeated as he pushed an errant strand of hair back behind her ear.

She cleared her throat of the lingering tears. "White." She answered the question that had started their lament with but a whisper.

"May I ask why?" He tilted her chin upwards to keep her from retreating again.

"I spent a lot of Christmases in places that were never cold enough for snow. My mom decided that we would put white lights on the tree as a sort of substitute. Then every year after we had it decorated, she'd lay with me under the tree and say, "See, Sam, who needs snow when we've got the stars." Her voice broke as she smiled through her tears and she leaned into him again.

He kissed the top of her head and they were once again quiet for a few moments.

"I love you, ya know?"

She gazed up at him and their eyes locked. It still amazed her they way they could get lost each other's eyes.

"If there were only one thing I could claim to know in all of the universe, Jack, it would be that you love me."


	3. Tinsel

**Tinsel**

She was trapped. He had her pinned to the floor and despite her best efforts, she was no match for him when it came to hand-to-hand combat. Age seemed to have had no effect on his abilities, he had the upper hand and she was as good as stuck.

For a moment they just stared at one another. That was a danger in and of itself as neither of them had ever seemed to be able to control what their eyes gave up to the other. For another brief moment she thought he just might relent and let her go but it was in that same moment that she felt him change positions and remove one hand from her wrists, which he held above her head, and slowly start sliding said hand down her right side. His touch almost sensuous, he trailed his fingers slowly and lightly over her now exposed stomach teasing the sensitive flesh.

"Don't start something you can't finish Flyboy," she whispered huskily in his ear.

"Oh, Carter, I have every intention of finishing this," he whispered back.

She squirmed beneath him as his hand moved back up her side, this time uninhibited by her shirt. And just as her body started to respond, he started to tickle her with a vengeance.

"Stop! Stop! Stop!" She was gasping for breathe as his relentless torture continued. "Jack!"

"Never! Not until you admit that I'm right." He let up just enough for her to catch her breath so she could answer.

"Jack, c'mon. You can't be serious. Why can't we just agree to disagree?"

"Oh Samantha, you know me better than that," he grinned evilly. "Now, if I let you up we are going to finish our conversation like normal, civil adults, right?"

"I am perfectly capable of being civil about this. I'm not the one who pinned his wife to the floor because she had a difference of opinion, remember?"

"Sam," there was a slow warning in the way he said her name.

"Jack," she countered, annoyance lacing her lips. "Just let me up already."

He leaned down so that his lips were almost touching hers before saying, "The rest of this will be finished later." The kiss he gave her turned her back into a puddle of jello and it seemed like time stopped while they lay there. When he finally pulled away, she whimpered slightly and he once again gave her his trademark smirk as he let go of her wrists and helped her to get feet.

"Now, where were we? Ah, yes, so this," he held up a package of silver Christmas tree icicles, "is a package of?"

"'Icicles' Jack, it says so right on the package, 'icicles.'"

He humphed in reply and she smiled. "Sorry."

"Fine. But what is this?" He asked holding up a long strand of pine garland.

"Garland."

"Okay. Now this."

Sam knew she was going to be in trouble. This is how the argument had started in the first place. She looked at her husband watching her expectantly and took a moment to think before answering. She could stick to her guns or she could do what she did best and make peace.

"Well, before I married you, I would have said that what you hold in your hand is called tinsel," his look of chagrin made his eyes all the more piercing but she continued with her explanation. "However, in the interest of actually getting this tree decorated and not caring whether I am truly right, unlike some people in this room," she smirked at him, "I concede to your point of view, Jack, that this," and she pointed at the strand of silver 'tinsel' in his hands," is also called garland."

Jack grinned like a five-year old who'd just gotten his way. He knew that it wasn't easy for his wife to remove labels, designations, or categorizations. She didn't like ambiguity. Sometimes it bordered on OCD the way everything had to be just so. He'd confronted her about it early on, even before they had become romantically involved. He had been curious about how much of her deeply ordered personality came from her military upbringing and service and how much was just pure, scientifically made Sam Carter. She'd admitted that it was a bit of both. Even as a kid she had to categorize and order everything in her room, from books alphabetized by author to crayons and markers organized by color, to categorizing her hair accessories according to the length of her hair, type of accessory and her personal preferences. She couldn't control much about their transient lifestyle growing up so she took control where she could.

But she hadn't argued. She hadn't insisted she was right. She hadn't tried to explain why it was the way it was. She'd conceded. She'd put him first. She'd let it go.

He watched her start to hang the _tinsel_ on the tree and he sighed. This is what normal couples did at Christmas. They didn't spend their time on other planets getting chased by aliens. Normal couples did this. They went out and cut a tree, together. They dragged the tree back to the house, together. They argued over the lights and the ornaments while sipping hot cocoa and eating Christmas cookies.

They say its the little things that count. It's the little things that matter most. Today had reminded Jack that the little things can be the greatest things of all.


	4. And Back to the Lights

**And Back to the Lights**

She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this happy. It seemed silly to thing that something so simple could make her feel so safe and secure, could make her feel like she really, truly was home. But as she lay on the floor looking up a the tree they'd just finished decorating, _their_ first Christmas tree, she didn't think that her heart could feel any more full.

Her husband lay down next to her, his hand just touching hers, he handed her a heart-shaped cookie. She smiled at the memory of their morning. She loved baking and had insisted on making roll-out cookies, but when it came to cutting out the shapes, Jack had questioned her choices.

"Hearts? I thought we were making Christmas cookies."

"We are."

They'd argued for several minutes over whether hearts were appropriate for Christmas but she won in the end. "Jack, yes, usually hearts are for Valentine's Day, but considering everything we've gone through and all of the Valentine's Days and Christmases we've missed together, I think they are perfect."

They ate their cookies in silence.

"Jack?"

"Yeah."

Her question was soft and sincere, "Are you happy?"

He turned to look at her. "Do you really have to ask, Sam?"

"No. I mean, I don't think I could possibly be this happy if you weren't feeling the same way." She turned to face him, knocking a silver bulb from the limb above her as she moved.

"Careful," he warned teasingly, "if anymore ornaments get broken, my wife will..."

She pushed herself up so that she was looking down at him and placed a finger over his lips, stopping him from finishing the remark. "Please don't make fun, Jack. Not now. I need this moment. Just you and me. I don't want to cry or laugh or giggle, I just want to be _here_ in _this_ moment with _you_, alright?"

"Okay, Sam, okay." He reached up and grabbed her hand and turned it so he could kiss her palm.

"Okay."

She lay back down and stared up through the branches at the silver bulbs, the candy canes, and the homemade ornaments now covering the tree. She'd found several boxes in the attic labeled "Christmas," including a box of things her father had packed away for her just after her mother had died. There were things she'd made when she was a kid, and some other holiday decorations that she'd never really cared to take out. The box had stayed with her through the years but this was the first time she'd really gone through what was inside. She couldn't believe it when she found the angel that they'd used to top their tree all those years ago. A simple little angel with golden wings and a little tinsel halo, her hands folded in prayer and her tiny mouth in a round "o" as if she were singing her praises. Her mother had loved that angel. She'd watched in awe as her husband placed her angel on top of their tree.

She'd also found a box labeled "Charlie." When she brought it down with the others, she knew by Jack's look that she had permission to open it. They'd spent half the day looking over those two boxes and sharing parts of themselves long buried.

She grabbed Jack's hand, lacing her fingers through his as she stared up in wonder.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"For what?"

"For reminding me that I'll _always_ have the stars."


End file.
